


Firefly

by NaroMoreau



Series: Flame in the wind [2]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 12:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17704349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau
Summary: You can't deal anymore with the fact that you fell for your best friend. And he doesn't seem to notice, or does he?





	Firefly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleMissWrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissWrath/gifts).



> This is for one of my best and closest friends, for all your encourage and love and for pulling me into this awesome fandom. Love you Lúa! 
> 
> Thank you so much to JulesHawke for beta reading this for me!

“Yo, shorty!” 

Your stomach tightens as Sharky's voice travels to you, his cargo pants ruffling the overgrown and evergreen grass. You clench your jaw because it's ridiculous, pathetic even, but you can't help it. You can’t stop your sweating hands and your thumping heart whenever he is around you. 

“Hey chica, wait up! Are you 'aight?” He is almost running behind you, a frown creasing his dark brows.

“I'm fine man,” it's your terse answer, your eyes focusing on a line of trees ahead, making an effort to hide a wince. It's been weeks now since you realized friendship was no longer the only thing rolling in your mind when you looked at him. In the middle of all this load of shit, he grounds you, and you aim better when he is with you. And that means something.

“C'mon girl, you're fucking bleedin’,” he shouts, and you turn shushing him, because peggies are the last thing you need right now. The halt gives him time to approach you, and your stomach flips when he grabs you by the arm.

“It's nothing. I just need some rest. I think we can make it to Hurk's if we hurry.” Truth is the injuries sting like hell. Courtesy of a peggy bat, right to your side and a throwing knife aimed too low, thankfully.

“Don’t think so,” he says examining the knife wound, “it's late. We ain’t gunna make it there.” He kneels in front of you and opens his ammo pack. You see him taking out a first aid kit and chuckle at the sight. “What?” 

“Sorry. I thought you only carried gasoline and zippos with you-- and weed maybe?” you say quirking a brow. He is standing next to you, and the warmth radiating off him is intoxicating. You try to focus on the feeling of your gun between your fingers, but the roughness of his calloused hands against the skin of your arm, make the task almost impossible. 

“You get hurt like hell po-po. Who's gon’ take care of you if it ain’t me?” He smiles at you from under his cap and you can swear his eyes have never seemed so blue. A crimson blush spread on your cheeks, and you curse yourself for being so weak.  

Looking down, you say nothing, admiring the work of his hands on your skin. “Y’know? Before you came, it felt pretty lonely here.” His words prick at the place where you hide what you feel, so badly wanting for those words to mean something else, and it enrages you he’s so blind. Or maybe he’s just not into you. Bile rises in your throat at the thought. 

He cleans your bleeding wound with soft caresses and you don’t think you can take it. In the air of the night, your hair drapes around your face, and you tilt your head to hide your eyes from his. 

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Sharky leans closer, concern etched in the furrow of his brow, “am I hurtin’ you?” There’s an expression on his face you can’t quite place, one that sends a shiver down your spine.

A breath gets caught in your throat when you look at him. The world spins around when he places an index finger under your chin, just to freeze the moment he plants a kiss on your lips. Your body feels suspended in that small glade under the moon, surprise taking ahold of your brain, your reactions tumbling down. 

His lips are soft, and his scent fills your nostrils triggering memories of nights in the forest and scorched fields. It’s a slow, chaste kiss, that breaks as soon as he realizes you are stock-still under his touch. 

“I’m-- I’m sorry Dep, dunno what got in me, I just-- I guess I should--” He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks beet red.

“ _ Now is when _ ” you think, gulping the air around you. “No, Sharky, listen I--”

A loud howling snaps your attention back to the thick bushes behind you. It doesn’t sound close, yet not as far as you'd like. 

“Judge.” You grab your pistol, aiming it at the darkness behind you. 

Sharky places his hand on your shoulder, and whispers. “We gotta fly, there can be a fuckton of those things.”

“Sounds just like one.”

Suddenly, the silence is broken by a chorus of howling wolves, answering to the first call. There’s a pack nearby, and truth be told, it takes you an effort to even breath. Maybe that peggie did break one of your ribs or maybe you just need to sit and rest for a bit. With a grunt you lower your weapon. 

“There’s an old cabin less of a half mile from here,” Sharky says holding his flamethrower close to his chest. Like a shield, you think. Whatever moment arose between both of you is gone, dissolved in the boisterous caterwaul. 

“K, lead the way.” 

You follow him merged in the shadows, and even the Shark knows is not time for babbling his brain out. You’re so used to his prattle, the silence feels weird, with faint screams traveling in the wind around you. 

And every step is torture, your lungs about to explode for the effort.  _ Pant, gasp, pant _ . But you don’t want him to notice, and everytime he turns around you smile and straighten up. Until it’s too much. 

“Sharky, wait.”

He’s just three steps ahead of you, able to catch your feeble voice.

“What’s wrong shorty?” His arm is on your shoulder before you can process it, but right now, the dull pain on your side, dampens everything. 

“I-- I just need a break.” You grimace despite yourself, and he bows his head down, closing the almost nine inches that part him from you.  _ Damn, he is tall.  _

“What’s goin’ on?” You have never heard his voice playing with such dark undertones, all traces of joy vanished into thin air. 

“Ehm-- I think that peggie may have broke one of my ribs,” you say without flinch. 

“What the fuck girl?! Why didn’t you say sumthin’?” He reaches his hands to touch your side, the one you’re now holding, but hesitates and closes his fists, arms falling to his sides. 

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well that ain’t workin’ now, chica.” He heaves a sigh. “Look,” he says hanging his gun on his shoulder, “I’ll carry you there. See that? That’s where we’re goin’.” 

In one swift movement he lifts you from the ground, carrying you bride style, through the pines and oaks. It’s surreal. Your ear is pressed against his chest and you hear the soft thudding of his heart, maybe a little too quick for so little action. The trip doesn’t last as long as you’d like and once you get there, a pool of disappointment forms in the pit of your stomach. He puts you down, gently. 

“‘aight. We’re here,” he says opening the door, giving you space to get in. 

Once you’re alone, the earlier kiss hovers like a grey cloud over your heads. You concentrate in the pain, on the throbbing flesh of your side. 

“K. Let’s see that wound.” He kneels before you, fumbling through his backpack, retrieving his aid kit. 

A soft blush appears on your cheeks, but you brush it aside swiftly. You take off your shirt, sitting in front of him in nothing but your bra and jeans. A little voice of concern and modesty scratches the back of your brain, afraid of seeing disgust on his face. After all, your chest is a map of scars and bruises, not appealing at all. 

“I’ll be damned,” he whispers under his breath and you feel your heart constricted with iron bars. Of course he's disturbed. Burnt, scarred, almost marred, and oh so mentally fucked up. Your brain, Jacob’s personal Rubik cube, where he poked and probed until you almost couldn’t remember who you were. 

He clears his throat, as your stomach sinks a bit further down with each passing second. “Beg yar pardon Boo, seems I ain’t seen a beautiful girl in a crows’ age.” Through the silver haze of moon light you can see his hands slightly trembling, his blue eyes open wide, staring at you a little awestruck. “And-- ‘bout what happened ‘fore--” he says fiddling with a piece of cotton from the kit, while your answer, and your tangled thoughts freeze in your throat, “darn, I'm sorry. I shoulda known this, I mean ‘don’t put your cart ‘fore your horse’ my mama always told me and I just thought-- Nevermind.”

He looks down, soaking a rag to take the dirt out of your skin, trying to avoid your gaze at any cost. The pain has subsided since you sat, and breathing gets easier by the minute. You try to hold to his last words, harboring a sliver of hope. “Shark, what do you mean?”

His fingers feel warm against your battered body, and you can feel him tense, as he does something you’ve never seen him do before. With a broad movement, he takes off his cap, staring at you, a hesitation transparent in the sigh he just let out. 

“Guess there ain’t no point in hidin’ it no more,” he says as your stomach is in knots, half dreading the outcome won’t be what you so badly expect, “ I think I love ya ma'am, and my daddy taught me to be a gentleman, so I don't wanna creep you out. I mean-- " he clears his throat, fidgeting with the bracelet on his left hand, "I mean look at ya, you're so pretty you could make a hound dog smile, and you're tough as nails and everytime you blast a peggie's skull I get thick in my pants."

A low snort scapes you, looking at his flustered face “Sharky I--”

“Nah, it’s ‘aight. I mean I’m not the brightest in the bunch, and I reckon I should prolly tune down my love for setting’ shit on fire, so I know you are like a hundred miles out of my league, it’s cool--”

You lean forward, swallowing his words, your lips eager to show him what you couldn’t before. He moans in your mouth, eyes wide as your tongue swipes across his lips, and into him. 

”What got into you girl?” He holds you by the arms, breaking off the kiss, even if his voice sounds huskier that you have ever heard before. 

“Really? Kinda slow you are, don’t you Boshaw?” a half smile dances on your lips, seeing your own desire mirrored in his eyes. 

“Don’t get me wrong boo, I’m ready to scuba dive in this but I wanna know-- why? I mean--” he gulps, “I wanna know where we’re standin’, like I said it’s been pretty lonely before you got here, and I need to know you're stayin’--”

He’s just an inch away and his breath fawns your face. He smells like musk and propane, a dazing combo that makes you lightheaded. “You’re damn right I’m stayin, I fuckin’ love you, you pyromaniac oaf.” 

The corners of his mouth slowly tugged up with every word you said, until there's a shit-eating grin on his face. He crashes your mouth with his, a kiss that's all tongue and teeth, eagerness and need. He draws you closer, an arm gently pulling at your middle area. “Am I hurtin’ ya?” He whispers against your mouth as his hands unhook your bra. 

You shake your head, scooting backwards on the old mattress, leaning back on your elbows. He places a knee between your legs, spreading you and kissing you down, until you lie under him, caged between his arms. You savor him, enjoying every distinct tinge that hits your palate. He kisses the line of your jaw, trailing down to your neck, every little peck carrying a moan to your ears. You card your fingers in his hair, your body arching as he closes his lips around one of your pebbled nipples, sucking gently, his hand cupping the other, brushing his thumb over your peak. He finally unzips your jeans, slowly, as if he wanted to scorch this moment in his brain and you shimmy your hips to allow him to pull them out. 

He stops for a moment, looking at you and you swallow your insecurities when you see rapture on his face. “Damn babe, you’re gorgeous,” he purrs. 

In a swift movement he takes off his hoodie, carelessly throwing it to the floor, unzipping his cargos, and letting them go down. There’s a tent already in his trousers and fire lights up in your belly, arousal soaking your panties, seeing the outline of his erection. You can hear his hitching breath when he lies on top of you, kissing you again. 

“You’re gunna pardon me Boo, but I’m  kinda nervous, more than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, to be fair,” he chuckles against your mouth, his hardness rubbing against your thigh, “don’t want to mess this up.” 

“You won’t,” you say skittering your hands under his boxers, rolling them down as he keeps kissing you and nibbling the skin of your neck as if his life depended on it. 

He locks his eyes on yours when he feels his tip nudging at your hot center and swiftly, he moves your panties aside. You nod, and he sinks into you, excruciatingly slow, wonderfully slow, pleasure running up your spine as he stretches you wide. He gives you a moment to accommodate him, your walls rippling around him and he stares at your face, pupils dilated in hunger of you.

“Damn Boo, ya feel so good,” he rasps in your ear, as you feel him filling you completely. He rocks his hips slowly, rolling them and canting them to hit that sweet spot. When he does it, your toes curl and your back arches, nails raking down his back. 

“God, Sharky, please--!” 

Your legs buckle at his waist, opening yourself even more for him. His rhythm is steady, pistoning in and out of you between hoarse grunts and adoring kisses. Your breasts are mashed against the lean muscles of his chest and his face is burrowed in the crook of your neck, whispering your name. 

In the middle of the night, the slap of his hips against yours along with heavy moans and grunts break the silence. 

He goes faster, thrusting into you to the hilt, now kneeling in front of you, grabbing your thighs and hoisting your hips to allow him to go deeper. You feel your orgasm building, like pressure uncoiling in your lower belly and the erratic rhythm of his hips announces you he’s not far. 

You come around his cock with a low cry, waves of pleasure traveling across your body. 

“Boo, I'm close--” He grunts, beads of sweat on his forehead. 

“Don’t stop.”

“But--”

“You heard me.”

His acquiescing comes seconds later, when he cums inside you, crying your name out loud. 

He falls on you, still supporting himself on his elbows to not crush you. You seek his help to flip him over, his half-hard cock still inside you. Once you are draped on his chest, he draws little circles on your back. 

“That was some good shit, babe. You crushed my brain and--”

“I love you Sharky,” you say kissing him again, brushing aside a lock of brown hair from his forehead with your thumb.

He looks at you and takes one of his bracelets off, putting it to you. It's big on you, but that doesn't matter. 

“I love you Boo, and this is for everyone to know it.”

You look at the bracelet and back to him. Not even Satan will stand between you both. Not even Joseph, and Eden’s Gate.

Never.

_ Or so you think.  _


End file.
